An Exquisitely Painful Homecoming
by sanguine2
Summary: A hurt/comfort coda fic to 2.22- Steve looks okay out on the tarmac but feels like hell. Things get worse, fast. Lots of poor!Steve in this fever fic. Warning -slash by end of last chapter
1. Chapter 1

If there was one thing you could say about Steve McGarrett it was that he wasn't naive.

Take how beat to shit he felt out there on the tarmac.

He made no excuses. He knew the drill; if you went up against someone with skills like Wo Fat's, win or lose, you were going to feel like shit.

_And did he ever_.

_And them some._

He felt like every nerve in his body was exposed. A handshake hurt; hugs were worse. Even the breeze off the bay felt like sandpaper on his skin.

No one was going to know how he felt, though. Last thing he needed was to be sidelined in an ER. He acted like he felt fine and with everything that was going on, no one called him on it. It got a little dicey once, when a patrol car pulled up and accidentally caught him in its headlights.

_What the hell? _He couldn't slam his eyes shut fast enough. Even after he did they watered like he'd been tear-gassed.

_What was that about?_

Kono stopped mid-sentence to ask him what was wrong. Wishing he knew, he lied that he had something in his eye. Thankfully she didn't push it. A second later he forced himself to move on and forget about it.

It's not like he had a choice.

There was a detective bickering with Chin who needed to be convinced that Noshimuri deserved a charge a lot less onerous than attempted murder of a law enforcement officer. _Talk about a tall order. _As he walked over towards them he honestly wondered if he could pull it off.

Forty-five minutes later things were looking better than he'd even hoped for.

_So maybe there was a God._

Not only were Wo Fat and Noshmuri in route to separate facilities; the army of squad cars and SUVs surrounding him had dwindled down to just a handful. Leaning against the only van still on site, he finally let himself savor the fact that the man who'd put him through pure hell was going away for the rest of his life. It was a sweet victory but hard to savor with his head pounding the way it was. Wo Fat had definitely left him with a few souvenirs. It was crazy but after today's five minute fight with the bastard he felt worse than he had after the very long day they'd spent together in North Korea. He let the truck behind him pretty much hold him up and closed his eyes. _Okay that felt better. _If he stood absolutely still the vice-like ache that started in his head and pulsed straight down to his ass was almost bearable.

"Hey buddy-"

_Shit._

Danny was suddenly right next to him. It was scary the way the guy could see through him, sometimes. The good news was that he was in his ususal a million words a minute mode.

"So, Steven, although I will never forgive you for the way you snuck off to do what you did, how about we go celebrate the fact you managed to, once again, go off half cocked but not get yourself killed?"

He didn't even have to fake his frown. "So is there a question in there, Danny?"

"Yeah you jerk-you wanna go for a beer?"

"I thought you'd never ask-what have you been doing all this time?" As much as he wanted to, saying no wasn't an option.

Danny shot back something about being busy cleaning up the mess he'd made but he only heard part of it because as they started walking towards the car, Danny also said it was good to have him home and gave him a little swat on the back.

_Shit_.

"What?" Danny reared back the minute he saw him grimace. "What? What's that look for?"

He was as shocked as Danny by the pain that shot down his back but recovered quickly. "What's that look for? Did you forget that I crash landed a plane today?"

Danny's eyes narrowed, "So you're hurting?"

"And you wouldn't be?"

"But you're okay?"

"Of course I'm okay."

God only knows how he managed to growl it out the way he did-all edgy and insulted sounding.

"Don't get pissy with me. I'm just asking if you're okay. So you want me to drive?"

"Suit yourself."

* * *

By the time the waitress set his second beer in front of him, he could barely stomach a sip. The first one had tasted peculiarly bitter and this one was even worse. On top that his head was outright killing him. Only Wo Fat could leave the winner of a fight feeling this bad.

"What's up buddy-you're way behind. Something wrong?"

"No, I'm good. I'm just... beat."

Danny's eyes narrowed but before he could launch into interrogation mode, Chin came to the rescue. "Well folks, as much as I'm enjoying this reunion, and as happy as I am to have you back, Steve, I'm afraid I have to say adieu seeing as my lovely bride awaits me."

"Oh please!" Danny groaned.

"What are you-whipped?" Kono rolled her eyes but had a big, slightly tipsy grin on her face.

Chin just smiled and pushed back his chair.

"Hey Chin, think I can bum a ride?"

"Oh no, you're wimping out too?" Danny shot Steve a frown that only lasted until he stood up. "Hey, you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah I'm sure. I just need some shut-eye before I start whipping you guys back into shape." He reached for his wallet, "So what do I owe?"

"Put that away-go on-get out of here. Kono's treating."

"And does she know that?"

"Now I do," Kono laughed. "Don't worry I'll get Danny to ptich in to."

"Well that's very kind of you, Kono."

"Hey what can I say, boss, I'm the rookie."

"So Cuz," Chin asks looking very amused, "just how long is this rookie thing going to last?"

"_For-evah!" _Kono threw both hands up in the air dramatically. "Seeing_ as_I just officially banned any new additions to Five-0!"

Loud whoops and some table slapping on Danny's part earn them a few stares from neighboring tables. Not that they cared. "Come on," Chin said, draping an arm around Steve and steering him toward the door, "You look like you're running on fumes."

The lighting was low and Chin was focused on getting them past the crowd at the bar, which meant he missed Steve's grimace.

Watching from the table, Danny missed nothing. He saw Steve flinch when he started walking and after that, hold himself stiff- like every step hurt. "Looks like our fearless leader is really beat to hell," he said.

Kono was a little too buzzed to be worried. "Yeah, but you know, Steve. He'll be back in the office tomorrow morning before any of us."

"I sure hope so."

* * *

Chin was quiet until they were on the interstate. After a careful sidelong glance, "So you look like you're a little beat up?"

"Yeah. Maybe a little."

"But you're okay?"

"Yeah. I just need to get some sleep."

"And nothing's going on that you should get checked out... just between friends?"

"No. I just need to hit the sheets."

"Okay. Then let's get you home, brah." Chin pressed down on the accelerator and slid into the far left lane even though the grim look on his face promised he wasn't at all convinced.

A few minutes later Chin's voice echoed in Steve's head as he walked toward the front door-

_You take care brah. _

Had he answered? He barely remembered getting out of the car, much less saying good-bye. He fumbled with his keys, listening for Chin's car to take off. As soon as he got the door open, it did and he stumbled inside. After he dropped his gear in the hallway he headed for the kitchen. Remembering that he didn't get along with bright lights, he reached under one of the kitchen cabinets. Even the dim glow of the light he turned on made him have to squint his eyes.

_Okay. So the place looked better than he expected. _

The plants on the windowsill were still alive.

Someone must have watered them. Squinting he looked over at the neat stack of mail on the table and next to it, two UPS boxes.

_Same someone?_

Danny?

Probably. He still had a key.

So Danny had been there for him, even as shitty as he'd been to him. Again.

The guy was a saint to put up with him. He didn't deserve him-honestly he didn't.

Hating himself and vowing to make things right, he opened the cabinet next to the sink and grabbed a bottle of Advil. _Two or three? _

Ignoring the label and three little brownish-orange pills later he dragged himself upstairs on legs that felt so heavy he had to pull hard on the bannister to make the last few steps

* * *

The house was stuffy and stale smelling but it was nothing a little cool air wouldn't fix. The upstairs windows had always been temperamental. Now, after being shut tight for four weeks, the one by his bed refused to budge. Pressing both palms firmly on its frame, he strained to get it open. Finally the thing slid up. As it did, shocking, searing pain shot through his shoulders.

_Jesus-what was going on? _

Arms wrapped his middle he took deep breaths and stared out into the pitch-black night waiting for the pain to ease up. For the first time that night he wondered if something besides his run in with Wo Fat was making him feel so crappy.

_The thing was he didn't do sick._

It wasn't a macho brag. It was just the truth.

Other than a weird virus he picked up his second year with the SEALs he honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd been sick-it had to have been in high school… maybe junior high. He shook his head and peeled off his shirt and pants.

_And shivered? _

One look at the curtains billowing into the room made him feel stupid.

_Cool air._

Sweaty skin.

No mystery there.

So then why did his face feel hot?

It didn't matter he told himself. He'd take a shower and get some sleep and tomorrow he'd feel better.

As soon as he got into the shower, warm water sluicing over his cuts and bruises felt heavenly. He closed his eyes and let the water stream over his battered body. _Oh God did it ever feel good. _

Until suddenly it didn't.

Out of nowhere he started shivering so badly his teeth chattered. He tried but couldn't get the water hot enough to lose the chill, which meant he couldn't get out of the shower fast enough. Hands shaking he wrapped one towel around his waist and then pulled a second one around his shoulders. Hunched over and leaving a trail of wet footprints he lurched toward the bed.

Since his entire career had trained him to look for threats even when they didn't exist, that's what he did.

_Could he have been exposed to some kind of bio-weapon? Maybe a slow acting neuro-toxin?_

As quickly as he as came up a possibility he jettisoned it.

It had been a tough four weeks, granted, but he'd been operating solo the whole time. He doubted he'd been exposed to anything more dangerous than a few snakes as he tracked Shelburn halfway across Japan. As unexciting as it was, he was probably just sick.

_Old fashioned, feel-like-crap, sick. _

After sliding down between the icy cold sheets and pulling the comforter up under his chin, it took more than a few minutes for the stubborn shivering to let up. Head pounding, he rolled on his side and tried to get comfortable. It took almost thirty minutes before he finally managed to drift off.

Restful and rejuvenating sleep it wasn't-not with the kind of fevered dreams he had. He must have fought an entire army of blurred, fast moving, faceless enemies. When he woke up he was sweaty and breathless and the covers were in a tangled heap at the foot of the bed.

_And oh God was he was freezing. _

It wasn't a just hunker-back-down-under-the-covers-and-you'll-feel-better kind of freezing either. This was a vicious pretender. His face burned like he'd been staring into a blast furnace but his body shook felt like he'd just stepped out into a blizzard.

More Advil was what he squinted at the glowing numbers on his watch. Four am. He'd gotten home at what? A little after one? Close enough.

Yanking the sheet off the bed and wrapping it around himself, he stumbled toward the bathroom. _More bad news_. His back felt like he'd jumped out of a second story window. His knees agreed it had been at least that high. Even his wrists and ankles ached. _What was this? Rip VanWinkle-redux? _After he downed two Advil he sat the glass on the counter and took a look at himself in the mirror. The red rimmed, blood shot eyes that stared back at him were not a pretty sight.

_Okay, so scratch that. He did do sick. _

* * *

"Rise and shine Princess. Wakey wakey."

_Talk about a nightmare_.

Bright light streaming into the room felt like shards of glass in his eyes. Slamming them shut and pressing his face into the pillow bought some relief but there was nothing he could do about Danny's voice.

"So when you didn't answer your phone I decided to come and check on you. What's up, you sick?"

Every word set off a gong in his head. "Yeah…I guess," he croaked.

The bed shifted as Danny sat down; he braced for the inevitable.

"So what kind of sick?" Danny's ice cold hand on his forehead made him flinch. "Shit! You're burning up. Where's your thermometer?"

"Don't nee' one. Jus' give me some Advil… please. It's in the bathroom."

"Hold on. First we got to find out exactly how high this fever of yours is. I'm sure your old man must have a thermometer some where around here?"

"Danny… please, jus' Advil."

"Hold your horses, big guy. I'll be right back."

_God he hated this. _

Like any Navy man worth his salt John McGarrett had a decently stocked medicine cabinet. Hidden behind the bottles of iodine and peroxide and Pepto Bismol Danny saw something that looked like a fat ballpoint pen. "Bingo," he said, unscrewing the top and taking a thermometer out. Shaking it, he crossed the room, "Open wide."

Not thinking, Steve opened his eyes along with his mouth.

_Big mistake. _

"Close… the blinds… please," he gasped, struggling to keep the thermometer in his mouth.

"Fine. Fine. Gimme a sec. But keep your mouth shut so I can figure out just how sick you are."

A few minutes later Danny let out a long appreciative whistle, "A hundred and four." He nodded at Steve like he'd won an Olympic qualifier. "Congratulations, big guy. That beats Gracie's record high, Emergency Room-worthy showing of one hundred and three point seven."

"Jus get me some Advil…. please."

"Not so fast. When'd you last take some?"

"I dunno…., a long time ago."

"Exactly how long ago?"

"Three," he lied.

Danny checked his watch and headed toward the bathroom. The sound of water running and pills being shaken out made Steve almost whimper he was so grateful.

"Here you go, you can have two of these babies every four hours."

He managed to sit up, take the pills from Danny and get them in his mouth. He didn't offer any resistance when Danny insisted on holding the glass for him. Too exhausted for more than a sip, he laid back, rolling on his side so his back was to Danny.

Not that it stopped him. "So when did you start feeling sick?"

"Last night."

"You think you got the flu or something?"

"Ye…ah."

"You throw up?"

"No."

"You got a sore throat? Headache? Cough?"

"Jus' head…ache."

"Well we'll give the Advil some time to work but if your fever's not below 103 soon, you my friend are going to pay a visit to someone with MD after their name."

"No!"

"Easy there big boy. Let's take it one step at a time. If your fever goes down, you're fine. Here, gimme this thing, it's only trapping in the heat."

As soon as he felt Danny tug on the comforter he latched onto it as tightly as he could. Not that it did much good. In addition to aching, his muscles were useless. Suddenly the comforter was gone and he felt like someone had just opened the door to a deep freezer. The shock took his breath away.

"Come on Steve. This too."

_This_was the damp sheet he had around his middle-the only thing keeping him from being bare-assed naked. His fingers went into death grip mode.

"Okay fine-you can hang on to that while I dig up some clean sheets but then I'm playing Florence Nightingale whether you like it or not."

Not really sure what that meant and not caring since Danny's footsteps were finally moving away, he pulled the sheet around him tighter and hoped whatever his partner was up to took a very long time.

He must have drifted off because the next thing he knew Danny was not only back, he was rather expertly stripping the bed, with him in it. It was a tricky undertaking but other than a few loud grunts Danny made it look easy. "Don't be so surprised," he said, tugging a fitted sheet over one corner of the mattress, "Grandpa Williams stayed with us after he had a stroke and yours truly was in charge of changing his bed. Trust me, I got really good at it."

It was surreal feeling as bad as he did and being rolled from one side of the bed to the other by Danny as he worked the sheet onto the other end of the mattress. If he hadn't been so sick he would have definitely made some kind of joke. As it was he put all his energy into holding his body as rigid as possible-being moved around by Danny hurt less that way.

"Ok pal. Time to lose this."

_Great._They were back to fighting over damn sheet that was wrapped around him.

As far as tug of wars go, it had to have been one of the world's fastest contests. As soon as Danny whisked the sheet off of him Steve's hands flew down to cover himself. Not that it did much good-Danny was definitely getting an eye full of every naked inch of him.

"Hey man, sorry, but that thing was damp and nasty and doing you no good. Here you go, let's cover you back up with this."

_What?_

He was expecting all kinds of razzing about his lack of sleeping attire but instead Danny's voice was surprisingly soft with no hint of any kind of tease in it. The way he pulled a cool, clean sheet up over him and brushed his fingers across his forehead felt ridiculously good. "Thanks, D," he mumbled gratefully, thinking as he closed his eyes that Gracie was a lucky girl. _Her dad was a good guy. A pain in the ass, but a good guy._

* * *

Being woken up to the sound of Danny's voice was starting to become a nasty habit.

"That's right a hundred and fucking four. He's got a wicked headache and that's it. I'm worried. I mean if it was the flu, wouldn't he be coughing or throwing up or something?"

_Who was he talking to? _

"Fine go ahead and ask her; I'll hold."

Silence.

Steve had nearly drifted off when he heard Danny's voice again, "Okay great. The front door's open just come upstairs when you guys get here. Tell Malia I owe her one."

_Malia? Crap. _He heard Danny coming back down the hall.

"Good news buddy. You my friend are getting a house call from a beautiful doctor -how do you like them apples?"

"No," he winced. "Don' need her."

"Yeah, yeah and I'm the fucking queen of England." Danny sat down on the bed next to him and ran his hand over his forehead. "Just shut up and get some rest, you big goof."

* * *

"So I hear you're not feeling so great?"

It took all he had to open his eyes and bring Malia into focus.

"Yeah."

"Well let's get you feeling better –what do you say?"

He agreed with a slight nod. Not that he had a choice. As much as he hated this, it wasn't hard to see what Chin saw in Malia. In addition to being beautiful and intelligent there was something comfortably reassuring about her that made even this awkward house a little less unbearable. As she took his pulse her fingers on his wrist were cool; her touch light. "Your heart rate's high-probably due to the fever. What is it normally?"

"Around sixty."

"Thought so," she smiled, reaching toward his ear with a device he didn't recognize. "Let's see what your temp is now." In literally a few seconds there was a soft beep. "A hundred and three," she read frowning.

He closed his eyes, pretty sure that didn't require a response. Over the next few minutes he kept them closed as she listened to his lungs and palpated his stomach. Not watching wasn't an option during the next part of her exam. When she shined a penlight in his eyes he winced.

"I'm sorry Steve- I won't do that again."

It was good to hear but what came next erased any ground he'd gained. "I want you to lift your head, Steve-try to touch your chin to your chest."

He tried, he honestly did. As soon as his head left the pillow he froze.

"Pain?".

"Ye…ah." Holding himself rigid, he slowly lowered his head. He couldn't believe that such a simple movement could hurt like that.

"I'm sorry; I promise, we're nearly finished."

_God he sure hoped so. _

She definitely saved the worst for last. At least she was careful to keep the sheet draped across his middle when she had him bring his right knee toward his chest "Okay now extend your leg toward the ceiling." It was another perfectly simple movement that ambushed him with breath stealing pain. This time he couldn't hold back an embarrassing yelp.

"I'm sorry, Steve. We're all through," she said apologetically as she pulled the sheet up over his chest.

He kept his eyes closed and tried to deep breathe his way through the pain. When he finally looked at her, her expression wasn't encouraging.

"I'm worried Steve."

_Definitely not good. _

"Why. It's just the flu, right?"

"It could be." she said giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "But it could also be something more serious."

He waited.

"I think we need to get you to the hospital for a lumbar puncture to be sure it's not meningitis."

"What?"

"I know it sounds crazy, but your symptoms are worrisome. You've got significant spinal rigidity and several signs we see with meningitis."

"What's the treatment…if it is that?"

"Well if it's bacterial you'd be treated with IV antibiotics; if it's viral there is no treatment other than dealing with your pain and fever."

He closed his eyes and sighed. Talk about welcome home.

"It won't be so bad, Steve, I promise. I have a private ambulance service I use when my patients are too sick to travel by car and whether you agree or not, you are. Anyway, arriving by ambulance means you'll be fast-tracked into a treatment bay and won't have to sit around in the waiting room. I'll have the Chief of Infectious Disease come down and examine you; it shouldn't take long at all."

"If it is … meningitis… I'd have to stay?"

"Yes but only for a few day, just until we see that you're improving."

"And you're… sure I have to… do this?"

Her hand on his forehead was cool and her eyes apologetic when she answered that she was definitely sure. She said something about having Danny come in and help him get dressed. Being reminded that he was naked made him squeeze his eyes shut.

It was time to disappear.

He'd gotten pretty good at it over the years out of sheer necessity. He felt the bed shift but tuned out Malia's footsteps as she left the room. He pictured a cool dark cave-the same one he always snuck off to when he needed to escape but couldn't. Slowly, in pitch blackness, he made his way down into it, not stopping until he reached the farthest, coolest corner.

_Safe. _

Forehead relaxed and breathing deeply, he must have looked like he was asleep when Danny came in to get him dressed because after a few seconds he changed his mind and and tiptoed out.

* * *

Eleanor Davenport could have headed up the Infectious Disease service of any one of the top hospitals in the country but she chose The Queen's Medical Center because Hawaii was home. Born and raised just a few miles from the hospital she made the requisite journeys to the mainland for college and med school and a string of impressive fellowships but when she was ready to start out on her own she returned to her beloved island and never looked back.

At just over four feet tall she was often underestimated; it was a mistake that never lasted long. A perfect example that good things really do come in small packages, she was a sharp, think-outside-the-box, kind of physician who took each of her patients' illnesses as a personal affront. In the eighties when Honolulu's AIDs epidemic was one of worst in the country, she barely slept between tending to a ward full of dying young men and browbeating the world's authorities on the disease until she got better answers. Just as doggedly, during the nasty outbreak of West Nile Virus in 2003 she demanded that city workers in high-risk areas be given prophylactic anti-virals and singlehandedly stemmed the tide of cases streaming into the city's hospitals.

_Small packages._

Good things.

That was Eleanor Davenport.

Right now her sensible heels made an insistent clicking sound as she hurried to the ER.

_So her new patient had arrived_. She ran over the few facts she knew about him in her head; 36 years old; no significant medical history; sudden onset febrile illness with symptoms concerning for meningitis.

She very much hoped her colleague was wrong.

Although in the three years she'd know her, Malia rarely was.

Since meningitis tended to prey on a younger population, she was worried. Adults often faced a tougher course. This gentleman was extremely healthy, though, Malia had told her. That would serve him well.

Looking up she was surprised to find herself already at the ER desk. "Good morning ladies," she said to the nurses behind it. "I wonder if you might direct me to my patient- Mr. Steven McGarrett. I'm told he just arrived?"

Smiles and grins broke out instantly-the way they did always did when the barely-as-tall-as-the-counter doctor appeared and treated them to her endearingly stilted syntax. One of the nurses glanced back at the huge whiteboard behind them, "Mr McGarret's in bay ten; Dr. Kelly's in with him now.

Davenport frowned but only for a second. "Oh, that's right. Dr. Waincroft is now Dr. Kelly isn't she? I just can't seem to get used to her new name."

"Well we're having no problem getting used to her handsome hubby and his cute friend," one of the nurses said, nodding at Chin and Danny who were pacing in the hallway.

Davenport pursed her lips and gave both men a long, careful stare. "Hmmm. They are quite attractive aren't they?" Then, lowering her voice as she nodded at Danny, "Isn't it delightful to see good looks like that in such a diminutive young man?"

Everyone at the desk erupted with laughter. The good doctor was always one to appreciate eye candy; especially_ diminutive_eye candy.

The smile on Davenport's face disappeared as soon as she walked through the sliding glass door fronting Steve's treatment bay. Her eyes shot to the monitor beside him. _Tachy, hypertensive, febrile- just as Malia had reported. _As she got closer she made more observations. _Flushed and diaphoretic._ Leaning in over him, she frowned. _With an unusual petechial rash on his chest and neck? _It wasn't exactly a reassuring clinical picture. Lips pursed she turned to Malia, "Good morning, Doctor Kelly- this must be the young man you called me about?"

"Yes. Thanks for coming so fast. This is Steve McGarrett, one of my husband's closest friends."

When he heard his name Steve opened his eyes. The bright light shining directly at him made him grimace and slam them shut.

"Turn that off, please," Davenport ordered. Then leaning in over him, in a much softer voice, "I'm Dr. Davenport, Mr. McGarrett, I'm awfully sorry you're not feeling well but I assure you that won't be the case for very long."

_Doctor? _

He squinted at the tiny woman talking to him, honestly thinking that she looked about as much like a doctor as his sister did.

That impression changed quickly as she took charge of the room. First she turned to his nurse, "What anti-pyretics and pain medication has Mr. McGarrett been given?"

"Ibuprofen, 400 mg an hour and a half ago and morphine 2 mg IM when he got here," the nurse answered.

"Which was when?"

"About ten minutes ago."

"I see." Davenport turned back to Steve, "You look like you're in considerable pain Mr. McGarrett?"

He shook his head, "I'm… okay."

"I seriously doubt that. Tell me exactly what hurts if you would."

"Jus' my head…. and my back."

Davenport bit her lip, suspecting her patient wasn't in the habit of willingly or honestly discussing his health. "Well I'd like to do a quick exam and then give you something more for the pain, would that be all right with you?"

Steve's raspy 'ok' was hard to make out. Not that it mattered; Davenport was already on her way to the sink

* * *

Over the next five minutes Davenport repeated the same exam Malia had made. Her touch was soft like her voice but she missed nothing. After she peeled off her exam gloves and dropped them into a wastebasket she walked back to the stretcher and gave his hand a gentle squeeze, "Well I'm afraid I concur with Dr. Kelly, Mr. McGarrett. You may simply have a particularly virulent viral infection but we need to draw labs and perform a lumbar puncture to be sure we're not dealing with meningitis. I'm going to give you some stronger pain medication before the puncture, how does that sound?"

"F…fine,"

"Good," she said, squeezing his hand again and giving him a tight lipped smile. "Trust me, we'll have you feeling better in no time." Turning to the nurse and tech she rattled off orders. "Let's start an IV for Mr. McGarrett; D5/Normal saline at 125 an hour, please. As soon as you have IV access push two miligrams of Dilaudid. I'd also appreciate it if you would draw a CBC, Chem 10, ESR, and coag panel. Oh and send blood and urine cultures as well." Addressing the tech, "Please get our patient on a cooling blanket and set up continuous temperature monitoring." Clapping her hands, "Chop chop, people, time is of the essence.

Turning to Malia with a hand extended, "I'm afraid I'm all thumbs when I try to use this pager. Would you be so kind as to text Noah Kame and tell him I'd appreciate his assistance with a lumbar puncture?"

The doctor's voice went in and out of Steve's head. So did the other sounds around him. Eyes closed he took a few deep breaths as he felt a tourniquet being tightened around his wrist.

"Just a little stick," he heard right before a needle sank into the back of his hand.

_Time to sneak back into the cave. _

* * *

Someone had just told him his name was Noah.

_Hello Noah. _

He said it to himself, keeping his eyes closed. He was finally feeling better and all he wanted to do was lay very still and drift even further away from what was going on around him.

No such luck

"I need you to roll on your side for me, Mr. McGarrett, here, I'll help you."

Ok now it was official – he really didn't like this Noah person. Opening his eyes he saw that the man was a very tan, very large Hawaiian.

And it was** Dr. Noah Kame **according to his ID.

The guy looked like he could have played college football-maybe even pro if med school hadn't given him the nod. HIs strong hands on Steve's shoulder and hip rolled him on his side before he knew it

"Great that's it," Noah said. "Now I need you draw your legs up as tight as you can and tuck your chin against your chest so that your back is arched." As he said it, Kame pulled the sheet covering him down around his ankles . Since he'd gone from sweating to shivering just minutes ago, the loss was far from welcome. He had on a hospital gown but the air he felt on his backside told him it had fallen open and was basically providing no coverage where he needed it.

It turned out to be the least of his worries.

The position Kame had him in was pure agony. He broke out in a cold sweat.

Seemingly unaware of his pain, Kame pushed his head forward. No way he could hold back a pained gasp. Desperate, he tried to twist away from the big man.

"Hold on there a minute, Dr. Kame. stop!"

_The pint-sized doctor instantly moved up on his list. _

"Nurse, please give Mr. McGarrett twenty-five mics of Fentanyl IV." Davenport turned to her resident, "I'm surprised at you Noah. When you see that your patient is in pain you do not just continue, pell mell, helter skelter with what you are doing. You stop and medicate him and continue only when you are certain he is more comfortable."

"Yes mam. I'm sorry."

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to, doctor."

"I'm sorry Mr. McGarrett. We'll get you more pain med, okay?"

"O…kay," he panted, watching the nurse attach a syringe to his IV. Almost as soon as she depressed the plunger he felt the tentacles gripping his spine relax. Cautiously he bent his neck.

_Whatever this Fentanyl was- it was good stuff._

Feeling drowsy and in much less pain, he managed to get curl up and hold himself still while a sheet was draped over his back. There must have been a hole in it because he felt a cold solution being painted midway down his back.

"I'm about to inject a local anesthetic, Mr. McGarrett," Kame's voice was coming from behind him. It wasn't an improvement. You'll feel a pinch and a burning sensation. Just hold still for me."

He definitely felt the pinch and whatever they injected burned as promised but it was nothing he couldn't take. He just wanted them to hurry and get this over with.

"Excellent Noah. Now find your landmarks and show me where you would go in."

Steve felt gloved fingers pressing on his spine and braced himself.

"Very good. Now hand me the stylet, please."

_So she was doing the actual puncture?_

Good.

"Nurse please help Mr. McGarrett maintain his position."

He felt small, cool hands settle on his neck and behind his bent knees and gently encourage him into a tighter ball. It wasn't painful this time though.

"I'm ready to advance the sytlet now. You need to relax and hold perfectly still, Mr. McGarrett."

He did exactly as he was told. He knew how to take this kind of thing. He exhaled deeply, visualizing his muscles going slack. The nurse leaning over him smelled faintly like honeysuckle as she held him in position. He felt the needle go into his back. It was a non-event. Funny how career experiences could make taking a needle in the back a lot easier for some than others..

"And now you'll feel pressure, but you shouldn't feel pain."

Apparently his body didn't believe her because all of sudden white-hot pain shot down his right leg. He jerked so violently the nurse couldn't hold him still.

" ! What is it?" Davenport froze.

"Pain, Right leg" he gasped.

"All right, I'm pulling the stylet back. There. Is that better?"

"Ye…ss." It was but he was drenched in sweat and dreading whatever was coming. The jolt of pain had been God awful and the needle or sytlet or whatever it was called was still in his back and about to be forwarded again. His mouth filled with saliva.

"Okay, we'll try again at a slightly different angle."

Davenport didn't sound very worried. _Maybe this happened every so often? _

He told himself to follow her lead and took an deep, uneven breath.

"Once again, please try to relax," she said. "Here we go-"

He couldn't help but brace for more pain. He held his breath and gritted his teeth. There was a weird sensation of increasing pressure in his back as the needle slid between two vertebrae and into a fluid filled cavity but this time, thankfully, there was no pain.

"You're doing wonderfully; now to collect our sample," Davenport murmured. "Hold still for just a bit longer, Mr. McGarrett."

True to her word, seconds later Davenport withdrew the needle and taped a dressing over his back. Right away the nurse released her hold, helping him roll over as she pulled the sheet back up.

"Well, Mr. McGarrett," Davenport said as soon as he could see her. "The good news is that your spinal fluid was clear, which it generally wouldn't be with bacterial meningitis. We've sent the sample to the lab to confirm my suspicion and to test for viral meningitis." Davenport gave his hand a gentle squeeze, "Even if it isn't meningitis, I want to keep you here to run more tests. I sense you're not a fan of hospitals and I don't blame you but I feel quite strongly that we need to get a definitive diagnosis."

He closed his eyes and said nothing. She was right-he wanted out. At the same time, as much as he hated to admit it, until this pain let up he wanted the heavy-duty narcotics they were shooting into his IV even more.

"There are two very concerned gentlemen outside asking about you," Davenport continued. "With your permission I'll go update them and then send them in to see you."

He mumbled that it was fine, not really wanting company but knowing Danny would make the staff miserable until he got in to see him. After Davenport walked away, he closed his eyes and listened to the beeps of a monitor and the voices around him. His head was fuzzy and he badly wanted to drift off but he couldn't-not with the niggling little voice in his head that wouldn't shut up.

_Just what the hell had he picked up in Japan?_

* * *

Once the spinal tap came back negative for bacterial meningitis Davenport went into high gear searching for other possible diagnoses. Her first stop was Malia and her first question was if Steve had traveled outside the country recently. The answer made her perfectly penciled eyebrows shoot up and her eyes go wide. "Japan? Oh goodness. Where in Japan?"

"I'll have to ask Chin. Steve was moving from place to place. The only location I'm sure of is Osaka- he flew out of there yesterday."

"Osaka? I see. Please get me every detail you can, as fast as you can. It's essential I know exactly where he traveled so I can run the appropriate tests."

"What are you thinking?"

"Nothing definite at this point but we could be up against something entirely different than our first suspicion. I'm still waiting on the PCR panel to check for viral meningitis but I honestly don't expect a hit."

"Why?"

"For one thing, the presentation doesn't add up. Mr. McGarrett's petechial rash is most unusual and his pain is diffuse rather than confined to the head and neck area."

Malia nodded, "I noticed thatl too. I'll go speak with Chin right now."

"Please hurry, Dr. Kelly. Find out everything you can about our Mr. McGarrett's travels. In the meantime I'm going to test for the most prevalent infectious diseases in the region around Osaka. I certainly hope I'm wrong but I feel like we're up against something very serious."

_It was 2000. It was his first mission as team leader._

_When insurgents kidnapped two US Embassy staffers in Cameroon, his team was briefed, given a packet of pills to take and inserted in the dead of night 24 hours later. After slogging through dense jungle and floating down the Benue River for a day and a half, they reached their targets and managed to extract them with no casualties. It was the rainy season though and fierce weather grounded the chopper tasked with getting them out which meant they had to hunker down in makeshift shelters for two days until the skies cleared._

It was miraculous that he was the only one who got sick.

_Thank God it didn't hit him until the second day because whatever it was, was wicked. Head pounding and burning up with fever, he reluctantly gave in and agreed to a shot of morphine. A few hours later when he drifted back into consciousness he was alone._

Where the hell was everybody?

"Johnson? Hastings!"

No answer.

Shit. Was someone on their trail? Had his team moved the civilians to a safer location and would be coming back for him any minute?

Wait a min

ute.

This was no jungle.

He forced his eyes open and blearily scanned the rooml. How had he gotten here? How long had he been out? There was something heavy and cold draped over him. He glanced down, totally confused.

_Bubble wrap? _The blanket-like sheet covering him looked just like the stuff except for the fluid-filled channels winding between the bubbles. The thing was freezing cold. It didn't help that underneath there was only a sheet folded over his midsection. "Somebody… anybody! Where am I?" The raggedness of his voice shocked him.

"Hey buddy, calm down."

A cool hand smoothing over his forehead felt wonderful.

"You're okay." The voice was so familiar. He forced his eyes open.

Danny?

_No way. It couldn't be_.

Suddenly two separate worlds, decades apart, collided. The impact re-ignited the pain behind his eyes. "Where… am I?"

"You're still at Queen's, buddy. They're trying to figure out what's going on with you."

Danny's voice and smile calmed him enough for the tumblers to fall into place.

"So how you feeling?"

"I'm …. o…kay."

"Well that's not exactly true or you wouldn't be here. At least thanks to this hi-tech cooling blanket they're finally getting your fever down."

"Wh…what do they think is wrong… with me?" Each word took incredible effort.

"Well your very short, but I think, very smart doctor suspects you picked up some kind of exotic bug in while you were traipsing after Shellburne. They're running all kinds of tests right now to try and figure it out."

Suddenly out of nowhere he was hit with a coughing fit that doubled him over. When it finally let go he dropped back against the bed, trembling.

That's when he noticed a strange metallic taste.

He reached up and touched the corner of his mouth. Had he bitten his lip? It didn't feel like he had. As soon as he looked at his finger he held his breath. The monitor next to him alarmed as his heart rate skyrocketed.

"Steve? Buddy! What is it-what's wrong?"

Unable to stop staring at the blood smeared on his finger, it was all he could do to whisper, "Get... the doctor."

Like the eerie quiet that precedes the most wicked storms, the harbinger of the one about to crash over Steve was a deceptively benign looking piece of paper.

"So it's Dengue," Davenport said softly as she read the lab report in her hand.

Before she could scan it completely her pager went off. It was a text message from her chief resident. "Oh for heavens sake. I detest these tiny little letters." Squinting, she read the message out loud, " Kame: re- McGarrett, hemoptysis w/ cough x2, 2cc, pt. tachycardic at 110, BP 136/68, sats 98% on room air. At bedside now-please come.

"Oh sweet Jesus," she murmured holstering her pager as she ran for the door.

"Dengue Fever?" Danny repeated. It was a toss up as to whether he looked more incredulous or terrified.

"Yes," Davenport answered, "I got confirmation just minutes ago."

"So how do we treat it?" Danny asked.

"Basically we treat the symptoms-there is no treatment for the virus itself."

Danny took a deep breath, "So is it going to get worse-the bleeding?"

"It may." As soon as she said it Davenport corrected herself, "Let me take that back, once we see frank bleeding like this, it almost always progresses."

Steve closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. As his head sank bank into the pillows both his heart rate and breathing slowed precipitously.

"You okay babe?" Danny asked.

Steve nodded, "I'm g…good-I'm o…kay."

He was neither good nor okay. He was retreating and regrouping- the way he did whenever an enemy had him completely outnumbered.

Danny's pulse moved in the exact opposite direction of Steve's. He turned to Davenport, "So he bleeds more and then what? You can pump blood back into him. Right? You can give him transfusions?"

"Yes, of course, as the bleeding progresses we certainly will attempt to replace whatever is lost with transfusions-"

"But?"

Davenport took a deep breath. "It's not just a matter of replacing lost blood." She locked eyes with Danny, "The problem is that this virus makes one's vasculature very… fragile. Eventually no matter how much volume we infuse, a great deal leaks out into peripheral tissues." She stopped and looked down at her shoes, hating this part of her job with her whole heart and soul. When she looked back up her eyes were filled with regret, "In some cases, it becomes very difficult to keep enough blood circulating to perfuse one's vital organs."

"Well that's not going to happen to Steve. Do you hear me, it's not!"

"It's… okay, Danny. I'll be o…kay."

"You bet your sweet patoot you'll be okay." Danny grabbed the bedrail and leaned in over Steve, running his hand up and down his cheek. It was as if they were suddenly the only people in the room. "And you want to know why you're going to be okay?" Not waiting for an answer, "Because I didn't endure four sleepless weeks waiting to get you back only to have you go and do something stupid on me. You're going to beat this thing and you're going to be back on the job in no time and not only that-you and I are going to surf Abaloa Reef and Aligator Rock and every other damn place on this island I've been too scared to try because I'm not scared anymore-you hear me? I'm not."

Okay, that registered.

Steve's eyes opened halfway and a weak smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Careful Danny. I just might… take you up on that."

"You bet you're going to take me up on it." Danny's voice hitched and he blinked hard, "We're fucking surf buddies aren't we?"

Steve's eyes were drooping but he forced them open, "Yeah…yeah we are."

Not saying a word, Davenport reached for a tissue from the bedside table and daubed at the faint trickle of blood coming from Steve's nose.

Next to her Danny's knuckles whitened as he gripped the bedrail.

"You get some rest now, Mr. McGarrett." Davenport said.

Maybe Steve nodded or maybe it was a grimace; it was hard to tell. His eyes did close completely and on the monitor above him, his heart rate slowed.

"I mean it," Danny whispered to Davenport. "He's going to beat this."

"Believe me, Detective. I plan to do everything in my power to make that be the case.

For the next few minutes the two of them stood by the bed without talking; Davenport's hand rested on the small of Danny's back; Danny's lay protectively over Steve's.

Both of them, in their own way, prayed.


	2. Chapter 2

It was after midnight.

Davenport was lightheaded with exhaustion as she punched in the country code for India and then carefully dialed Garud Kapoor's number.

Garud Kapoor, _MD._

One of the world's leading experts on Dengue Fever.

If anyone would know how to beat this bastard he would.

Thankfully Kapoor was available and willing to take her questions as soon as she explained why she was calling. After she heard his answers her disappointment inched dangerously toward anger. "I'm sorry Doctor Kapoor- I just cannot believe that in the 25 years you've been battling this disease there haven't been a few therapies-even experimental ones- that have shown promise?"

There's an odd half-second delay before Kapoor's voice comes back over the line. Davenport knew not to assign any meaning to it. While most of Hawaii is in bed, it's only mid-afternoon in New Delhi which means the city's outdated phone system is running way over capacity.

"Certainly I've considered a few." Kapoor answers. "But in the final analysis, the level of evidence has never been sufficient to justify clinical trials."

"To hell with clinical trials, Doctor. I have a young man who is going to die if I don't do something other than sit around and watch it happen."

"With all respect, I'm wondering if perhaps you might be misjudging the gravity of your patient's condition. While the symptoms of Dengue are admittedly frightening and very painful, the disease itself is not as life-threatening as, say, Eblola or many of the other hemorrhagic fevers."

"Except when it is."

"Are you saying this is not your patient's first infection with the virus?" Kapoor sounds worried.

"I'm afraid I am."

"Have you identified his serotypes?"

"He's Ig-G positive for DEN-2. I believe he contracted that strain of the virus in Cameroon about 10 years ago. He received no medical care at the time so Dengue wasn't formally diagnosed. In giving me his medical history, though, he described a febrile illness while in Cameroon that involved exquisite head, neck and back pain. As far as his current infection he presented with the same symptoms yesterday and tests positive for Ig-M: DEN-4. He contracted the current infection in Japan about four days ago, most likely in an area within a fifty mile radius of Osaka."

"As you are obviously aware, re-infection with an alternate subtype of the virus produces a significantly more virulent illness... I am very sorry."

"I appreciate your sympathy but it does my patient very little good. Tell me, Doctor, are you married?"

"Yes... I am."

"Then let me ask you this. If your wife was in the same predicament as my patient, which of the experimental therapies that you have vetted would you turn to in order to save her life?"

"Hmm…that's an extremely difficult question. Let me think."

Several seconds pass before Kapoor continues.

"I must say have been very impressed with Jeremy Shi's work at Institut Pasteur in Hong Kong. He has shown significant viral load reduction using plasmapheresis in a very large number or studies. He hasn't targeted the Dengue virus specifically but I noted with great interest that the viruses he's had the most success with were all double enveloped."

"As is Dengue."

"Exactly."

"And the risks of the therapy?"

"The risks are... not minor. Patients must to be anticoagulated during treatment which means there's a risk of significantly increasing the disease's inherent hemorrhagic effect."

"What if a patient isn't fully anti-coagulated? "

"Then he would run the risk of an embolic event- a pulmonary embolism or cerebral infarct are not outside the range of possibility."

"Hmm… I see."

This time the delay is on Davenport's end. After a long pause she asks, "What if IVC filters were placed in critical vessels prior to treatment?"

Kapoor sounds impressed. "I must say that's never been tried, though, theoretically it would buy a certain degree of protection. I …I just can't guarantee that it would be the degree necessary to forestall a negative event."

"That's quite all right Dr. I'm not asking for any guarantees. I have a life to save and I'm looking for any straw I can grasp on to. Would you be so kind as to give me Dr. Shi's's contact information?"

"Most certainly."

After Kapoor gives her Shi's phone number and email address he says, "And one more thing, Dr. Davenport?"

"Yes?"

"May I just say that I applaud your courage."

"Please Doctor, hold your applause. My patient and I still have a very treacherous battle ahead of us."

"Yes, but sometimes even the most daunting battles end in victory when one is willing to step outside their comfort zone as you clearly are."

"Thank you. Trust me, I am so far out of my comfort zone I'm not sure I'll ever find my way home."

"Then I pray that God is with you on that journey."

* * *

_Early the next morning in the ICU Family Conference Room-_

"Okay I'm sorry but that makes absolutely zero sense! What do you mean Steve's only hope is some never before tried, fresh out of fucking Hong Kong treatment? That's bull shit! Your patient is a decorated Naval officer fighting for his life and all you can do is offer to turn him into a damn guinea pig?"

"Danny. Calm down!"

"No, it's okay Mr. Kelly. I understand Daniel's frustration. I feel it myself. To clarify, though, the treatment I'm recommending_ has_ been tried, multiple times in fact. And it has been very successful with a number of viral infections. Interestingly, it's been most effective with viruses structured like Dengue. I've been in close communication with the lead researcher in Hong Kong and he feels there is a good chance that the therapy will significantly lower Steven's viral load."

"Okay fine. So this therapy has worked on viruses like the one trying to kill Steve. How about you tell us just what the hell it does, doc?"

Davenport nods, ignoring Danny's snide tone. She understands how fear erodes decorum. She chooses her words carefully and makes eye contact with each person in the room when she continues."Plasmapheresis involves separating a patient's plasma from his blood and running it through a very finely calibrated filtration system. In Steve's case, it's a system designed to remove the Dengue virus. Once his plasma has been filtered it it will be returned to his circulation."

Kono's been listening from the couch she sank down into as soon as they were herded into the conference room. The lines on her forehead deepen the more she hears. Suddenly she takes a deep breath and asks, "This doesn't sound like an easy procedure to put someone as sick as Steve through-I'm assuming there are risks?"

Every eye in the room goes from Kono to Davenport.

Davenport nods. When she answers her voice is rock steady, "There are many risks, the most serious of which is the development of blood clots. The good news is we think we have come up with a safeguard to minimize the chance of that happening."

"You think?" Danny jumps up so fast he nearly stumbles. His face is bright red; his eyes are blazing. "Jesus Chris! _Thinking_ is okay when your job is to repair cars. _Thinking_ is even okay when it's catching low life scumbags. When you're supposed to be saving my friend's life you damn well better_ know_!"

"Danny. I mean it. Get a grip. Now!" Chin jumps up a split second after Danny. The look they give each other is chilling as they glare across the room. After only a few seconds Chin shakes his head and backs down. "Look, man. Sniping at each other is not helping Steve. Davenport's been up all night researching his options. I think we should go with her recommendation."

"Well it's not like any of you have any kind of real vote anyway."

_Mary._

She's sitting on the couch next to Kono and looks totally exhausted.

Because she is.

She's been up for over 24 hours. She's still in her flight attendant uniform and even though it's rumpled and un-tucked it gives her a bizarre air of authority. "I mean, tell me if I'm wrong Eleanor," she says turning to Davenport, "but didn't my brother already consent to this-whatever it is?"

"Yes he did. I'm just explaining what's involved so that all of you understand what we plan to do."

"Oh great. So it's already a done deal." Danny throws his hands up but says what he does softly.

"But that's not a bad thing." Chin crosses the room and puts an arm around Danny. "Look brah, in most hospitals Steve would have to ride this thing out with no treatment options at all; six out of ten times, he wouldn't make it. Davenport feels she's found a way to increase his odds. I say we back her up. How about it?"

Suddenly, like air rushing out of punctured balloon, Danny's fight and fury disappear. When he looks up at Chin, he's holding his breath and fighting to keep his his lower lip from trembling.

Chin squeezes his shoulder. "He's going to beat this, Danny. You hear me? He's _going_ to beat this."

Danny looks like he wants to answer but can't. He shakes his head yes, biting hard on his lower lip.

Davenport clears her throat, "If any of you would like to speak to Steven before the procedure you should do it now.

"Yeah... o...kay." Danny stammers, "I want to do that- I want to see him."

"You go ahead brah, we'll wait here."

Chin speaks for all of them.

They know Danny better than he knows himself.

_This is tearing him up._

* * *

"Hey buddy-how you doing?"

"I'm…good."

"You're good? Well that's nice to hear." Danny gives Steve a shaky, sad smile as he squeezes his hand.

Steve can't return the smile. With so much pain med on board it's all he can do to keep his eyes open and nod.

Accidentally, just because it's so hard to see Steve looking the way he does, Danny glances down.

_Bad move._

He can't look away fast enough. The bag of urine hanging on the side of the bed was tinged pink when he left an hour ago ; now it's a frightening reddish orange.

He wants to punch his fist through the wall.

This damn virus is like a runaway freight train; no matter what they do they can't seem to yank Steve off of it.

He takes a deep breath and leans in over Steve. No way he's going to let himself see anything but those long lashes and amazing cheekbones. "So buddy," he says, "here's the story. You just got to hang in there a little longer. Davenport's got something on tap that could be a game changer. Don't ask me for the details, all I know is that if it works it's going to yank this fucking virus right out of your blood."

Like he doesn't even hear him, Steve murmurs, "You've been a …good friend, Danny... one of the few... real friends I've ever had. Thank you-."

"Hey! What are you talking about? Don't be thanking me for anything. You're going to be fine. Hell, you and I are going to be out there surfing and throwing back cold ones before you know it."

Steve looks like he desperately wants to say something but can't. He can't even keep his eyes open.

"Detective, we need to get him down to the Vascular Lab now."

Danny spins around and sees Davenport and Steve's nurse coming through the door. Behind them two techs are pushing a gurney. He takes an uneven breath,. "So... everything's ready?"

"Yes. We really should get started."

"And how long until we know something?"

"We'll be able to calculate his viral load directly after the therapy which should take about three hours."

"That long?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I mean that's longer than I thought it would take... ." Danny doesn't seem to know what to say or where to look.

"Daniel." Davenport squeezes his hand, "You have to believe that Steven is going to beat this thing. Do you hear me?'

"I hear you. I just hope this damn virus hears you." He looks over at the stretcher. "So... so do I have to stay here or can I come with him?"

"You're welcome to come as far as the lab, then I'll show you where you can wait."

"Okay good," Danny leans back down over Steve and as he brushes his fingers over his forehead offers an excuse, "'because I gotta make sure this guy doesn't give you any trouble."

"Of course you do." Davenport agrees, patting his back. "How about we give these folks some room to do what they need to do?"

"Sure. Okay." Danny lets Davenport guide away from the bed. They both watch silently while Steve's nurse and the techs transfer him to the gurney. As soon as he's settled and the leads on his chest attached to a portable monitor, Danny slips back beside him, reaching through the gurney's side railing for his hand. "You hear that, Steve? I'm coming along- so no funny business."

Steve gives him a weak nod just before the gurney starts towards the door.

Danny holds onto his hand all the way to the lab, which, is three floors down, and on the other side of the hospital. They have to stop once for Steve's nurse to attach a syringe to his IV and give him more pain medication. It kills Danny to see him hurting the way he is.

_No wonder Dengue's other name is Broke Back Feve_r.

He's over the top grateful that Davenport insisted Steve's nurse bring morphine with her. When they reach a pair of double doors marked, Vascular Lab- Authorized Personnel Only, they stop.

"This is where we part ways, Daniel," Davenport says. "You can wait in that area over there and I'll come and find you as soon as I know something."

"Ok, just give me a minute." He's already leaning down to get as close as he can to Steve. He has to make sure the voice Steve hears before they take him away is his and that it's giving him crap the way he always does-the way he prays he'll be doing for a long time to come. "Okay pal, it's time for you to go in there and show these folks just what a bad ass mother fucker you are, you hear me? I mean it. You better come through this with flying colors or I swear to God I'm going to whup your ass so bad." His voice cracks mid-sentence. He can barely finish.

Davenport comes up beside him. No one sees her slip a tissue in his hand. "We need to go, Daniel," she whispers.

He straightens, blinking hard and wiping his eyes.

It takes all he has to let go of Steve's hand.

* * *

Trust McGarrett to make things difficult.

It must be encoded in his DNA.

He's tricky the way he puts Davenport through her paces. The problem he ambushes her with isn't even one of the many she was bracing for. As his blood starts circulating through the plasmapheresis unit it appears that the tiny intra-vascular filters she had placed beforehand are doing their job beautifully. With no signs of any clotting or bleeding problems, she actually lets her shoulders relax a little as she scans the host of monitors flanking him. The room is dimly lit and except for the hum of the machinery, is very quiet. For a few minutes she's lulled into a comfortable calmness.

Suddenly a shrill alarm screeches.

Her eyes dart to the offending monitor. The slow rhythmic beep it had been emitting is displaced by an irregular, rapid one that stays rapid for five or six beats before it slows, then pauses completely. After three agonizingly long seconds it speeds up again. "Check his electrolytes!" Davenport orders. "Slow the filtration to the lowest rate." Before anyone can move, a bizarrely shaped waveform starts to march across the cardiac monitor's screen. It's so rare many physicians have never seen it outside of textbooks.

_Once again, trust McGarrett._

"Oh God! He's in Torsades!" Noah eyes the monitor with disbelief. "Get the cart, now!"

A controlled panic takes over the room; a crash cart is rolled next to Steve. Noah grabs conduction pads and slaps them on Steve's chest. Now two cardiac monitors compete with each other to report the same frightening news.

"We've got no choice- we need to shock him," Noah says, looking to Davenport. She nods grimly.

"Ok set it for 300 and clear," Noah says, taking the paddles he's handed and holding them above Steve's chest while he checks to be sure no one is in contact with him. "All clear" he says and places the paddles. "Shocking." As soon as he depresses a button on one of the paddle's handle, Steve's body jerks wildly off the gurney and his mouth drops open. On the monitor next to him the grim, abnormal waveform persists and the alarm continues to sound. "Increase to 360 please," Noah orders. Davenport nods.

The second shock sends Steve arching up even more violently- this time with a gruesome grimace on his face. He drops back down on the gurney unconscious and slack jawed.

"Dr Davenport! You need to see this." Across the room a nurse tears a strip of paper from a handheld device and runs toward Davenport. As she does, the monitor's alarm gives way to a hesitant but rhythmic beep. On its screen a much more familiar waveform appears.

"Hey! That looks like normal sinus!" Noah murmurs. He stares at the monitor, not daring to take his eyes off the reassuring sight for fear it might be transient.

"Thank God," Davenport says and then quickly scans the strip she's just been given. "No wonder this happened. His calcium is critically low. I want a calcium drip hung immediately-infuse it at one ml a minute over the next 10 minutes. Hurry! He could slip back into Torsades any second."

A frantic search of the code cart's bottom drawer produces a small IV bag of calcium in a solution of dextrose and water. The bag is hung on Steve's IV pump and connected to the tubing running into the back of his hand. Even once the solution begins infusing, Noah looks grim. His eyes stay glued to the monitor. Finally after a few minutes his shoulders finally relax and he calls out, "He's maintaining normal sinus rhythm with a heart rate of 87." Across the table, Davenport nods before she turns to the technician operating the plasmapheresis unit, "What were you using to anti-coagulate him with?"

"The usual, citrate."

Davenport's face turns red. "Did you read my order sheet?"

"Sure. Here. You checked off cit-"

The technician is scanning a preprinted form and stops mid-word. He looks up at her sheepishly, "I'm sorry. All the other docs use citrate, I guess I just assumed-"

"You are never to assume anything when a human life is in your hands. This man's illness has impaired his liver function which means he's most likely unable to metabolize citrate the way you or I would. As you well know excessive amounts of citrate can cause precipitous drops in calcium. I ordered heparin for that very reason and I fully expected my orders to be followed. I even came down and spoke to someone about it."

"That was Eric-his shift ended before you came back down with the patient. I guess he forgot to give me a heads up."

"But it was your responsibility to read and follow my orders."

"Yeah, I know. Look I'm really sorry, Dr. D."

"I appreciate your apology but I'm afraid I cannot allow you to continue to treat my patient. What is your supervisor's extension?"

"It's 3245 but I'm the only one on right now."

"I'm sure your supervisor is proficient in this procedure."

"Yes but he doesn't usually-"

She's already dialing her cell phone. "Hello this is Dr. Davenport. We have an emergency in the Vascular Lab, Suite 2, please come down immediately." After a pause, "I haven't got time to explain over the phone, but be assured the situation is life threatening." After a much shorter pause. "Thank you." After she hangs up she turns to the nurse,"Call the pharmacy please. Have them rush a five hundred ml bag of heparin down here. Specify that you want a concentration of 2 units per ml." Finally she turns back to the technician."Your supervisor will be here momentarily, you're free to go."

Dumbfounded but wise enough not to argue, the man heads for the door.

"That was most unfortunate," Davenport says to everyone remaining. "But I simply cannot tolerate that kind of behavior." She lays a hand gently on Steve's chest, "To borrow from Mr. McGarrett's very dear friend; it might be acceptable when one is repairing cars or chasing down _scum bags_, I believe he called them, but _not_ when one is entrusted with a human life."

There are nods of understanding around the room.

"Wha..." Steve shifts, beginning to regain consciousness.

"Everything is all right, Steven. You had a bad reaction but you're fine now."

Eyes opening partway, he looks down at his chest and grimaces, "Why's my chest... hurt?"

"I'm terribly sorry. Your heart went into a dangerous rhythm and we had administer several shocks." Turning to the nurse, "Please push 25 mcgs of Fentanyl."

He recognizes the name of the drug and his shoulders visibly relax. It takes only a minute after the drug's infused for his eyes to drift shut and the lines on his face to all but disappear.

Suddenly the door to the suite flies opens and a man wearing scrubs and a white coat rushes in. "Dr. Davenport, I'm Kenneth Hamura." The man scans the room looking confused. "You said you had an emergency?"

"We most certainly did. Thankfully it has been handled. I'm afraid you'll have to take over for your technician though."

"Why where is Andrew? What happened?"

"To be blunt, he nearly killed my patient. Once you get this treatment restarted I'll be glad to go into the details. Right now my patient needs your undivided attention."

Hamura takes his coat off and sits down at the console still looking very confused but apparently not about to refuse Davenport.

From the other side of the gurney Noah watches him pick up the order sheet and carefully read it. Relieved, he checks Steve's vital signs. Rock stable. Thank God

He shakes his head and smiles to himself.

_Damn his boss can sure be one BAMF ._


	3. Chapter 3

_Two days later…_

Sometime in the middle of the night a low voice wakes Danny up.

His heart's instantly in his throat.

It's an all too familiar drill lurching up and out the recliner the way he does.

_He hates this so much._

Someone's leaning over Steve but the lighting is so dim he can't see who it is. He's scared to death it's one of the ICU docs and something's wrong…_ again._

Then he hears Steve murmur, 'Sir'.

It's all he needs to hear.

"Joe? Is that you?"

"Oh hey Danny, I didn't mean to wake you. I… I came to see Steve."

"Huh?" he rubs his eyes to bring Joe into focus. For some reason he's mad at him, in fact he's getting madder by the minute. "So what? You just marched in and woke him up?"

Steve answers instead of Joe, "Dan…ny … it's ok-

"No Steve, it's not. I'm talking to Joe, right now, anyway."

"He was awake," Joe tries to explain. "I had the nurse check to be sure before I came in."

Suddenly Danny could care less. "Okay fine," he says to Joe. "So here you are. You know he's been in this hell hole for four days and nearly died twice?"

"No, I didn't know that." The look on Joe's face goes from uncomfortable to agonized. "As soon as I got word that he was sick I started hopping flights to get here-I tried to call too but couldn't get through."

"Just when did you hear he was sick?"

"About two days ago." Even the dim lighting can't hide the exhaustion on Joe's face.

"Two days? Where the fuck did you come from?"

"Let's just say it was a far away."

Steve surprises them both by suddenly pulling on the bed rails and trying to sit up, "And you got to… go back… right now, Joe. I… mean it!" Before he can finish gritting out what he says, Steve drops back with a pained grunt.

A monitor on the wall behind him starts to alarm.

"Hey, what's going on in here, guys?"

The big man in the doorway is Steve's nurse. He's an ex Army medic from Texas named Sam and he's been taking good care of Steve.

_And Danny_.

Not waiting for an answer, he crosses the room in two strides. Within a second he's upping the oxygen flowing from the valve on the wall to the tubing under Steve's nose. Trying not to look as worried as he is, he grabs the stethoscope hanging on the IV stand and leans in over the bed, "You doing okay, buddy?"

"Ye… ah, Steve coughs, "I'm…fine."

"Well some of these fancy machines beg to differ. I'm just gonna take a listen, okay?"

It's a rhetorical question; he's already moving his stethoscope across Steve's chest.

Watching Sam and hating the way he's frowning, Danny hisses to Joe, "Just what the hell did you say to Steve?"

"Nothing. I just asked him how he's doing and told him I'd been damn worried about him."

"Calm down-slow deep breaths, Steve," Sam is saying. He finishes with the stethoscope and lays a hand on Steve's chest, "You're breathing like you just ran a race and your heart's saying it was all up hill. What's going on? Are you in pain, buddy?"

"No… I 'm good."

"You're good? I'd like to believe that but I'm going to have a doc come in and check you out. You're definitely not as peachy as you were the start of my shift and you know how I tend to take stuff like that personal." Sam looks over at Joe and then at Danny, still not really sure what the problem is. "Maybe it would be best if you guys took off and let your friend here get some rest."

"Absolutely," Joe says right away. Before he goes he leans in over Steve, "You take care son-you hear? Get some rest and I'll see you a little later, okay?"

Steve's face turns flat out panicked, "No! Don't come back. No way it's safe around here for you this soon."

Another alarm goes off behind him.

Danny's stomach twists.

_Fuck._

For two days straight, ever since they started doing what they're doing to Steve, monitors have been suddenly going off and scaring the hell out of him. He's had enough. It's not fair but he needs a target for the fear-fueled rage bubbling up inside of him, "Nice fucking job, Joe-look what your little visit has done!"

"I'm sorry- I didn't mean to-."

Sam barely hears either of them. "Okay that's not good," he murmurs when a red number starts flashing on one of the monitors. Clenching his jaw the same way he did when one of his boys went down on some god forsaken stretch of dirt half way around the world, he grabs an oxygen mask from the cart next to the bed and replaces the tubing under Steve's nose with it. As soon as he's sure he's getting as much oxygen to him as he can, he yanks a cell phone out of his pocket and punches in a number. "It's me, Sue, McGarrett's sats are tanking-get whoever's on call in here now and page Davenport!"

Joe looks like he can't believe what he's seeing. Mouth open, he slowly backs out of the room and stands in the hallway watching Sam and another man who's just raced in work urgently over Steve. He stands there, not moving until someone takes him by the arm and leads him to a waiting room.

Danny, on the other hand, stays right where he is at the head of Steve's bed. He couldn't begin tell you what it is he's murmuring as he leans over him-the words spill out of his mouth without any conscious effort.

"Danny," Sam says, "you should go-"

"No!"

The glare he gives Sam tells him not to even think about saying it again.

* * *

_An hour later…_

Danny doesn't expect anyone to be in the private waiting room Davenport's made available to them- it's fucking four am for God's sake. He's there because it's the only place he can use his cell phone and as much as he doesn't want to, he's got to call Chin.

_Shit._

It was the only way he had gotten the guy to go home-by swearing he'd let him know if there was any change in Steve's condition. He flips on the light, drops down into the closest chair and is just about to punch in Chin's number when someone suddenly sits up on the sofa at the other end of the room.

_Joe?_

"What are you still doing here?" he asks him.

"I couldn't leave before I knew that Steve was all right." White stands and starts across the room. "He is, isn't he? All right?"

"Right now he is, but trust me, that's going to change any minute now- like it has ever since they started this damn treatment that's supposed to be saving his life but isn't."

Joe drops down in the chair across from Danny, "That doesn't sound good, son."

"Because it's not. Trust me, it's the opposite of good."

"Look Danny. We got off on the wrong foot back there. I'm damn sorry if I did anything to upset you. I was just worried sick about him and wanted to see him. Can you please tell me what's going on?"

That's when Danny notices that Joe's eyes are bloodshot and glistening and he's biting his lower lip.

He can really relate to biting your lower lip.

His is nearly raw.

That's when he realizes he's being an ass–that Joe's probably hurting as much as he is.

"Yeah," he says. "I can tell you what's going on but trust me, you're not going to like it."

Over the next few minutes Danny brings Joe up to date.

He tells him about Steve getting sick and about how long it took to figure out it was Dengue. Then he tells him about the little firecracker of a doc Steve has and how she tracked down an experimental treatment that she things just might save his life.

Then it's time for Danny's eyes to glisten. "I tell you Joe it's been a God damned roller coaster ever since then. They give him the first treatment and what do you know, his heart fucking stops. We don't hear about it when it happens. We're stuck in a waiting room and keep getting half assed excuses for why a three-hour treatment takes six. Anyway they finally tell us what happened and whisk him up here, which is, as you know the ICU. All of us are hoping like crazy, despite his new address that things are going to start looking up-that Steve's doc has worked some kind of magic. And you know what? At first it looks like she has. She tells us his viral count is down twenty five percent after the treatment. Whoop de do! We're all ready to throw a party; we can't wait for him to wake up and be at least twenty five percent better. Right? Not an unrealistic expectation? "

"Doesn't sound like it."

"Well guess again. He wakes up and yeah the fever's down but he's a damn mess. You know they call Dengue, Broke Back Fever?"

"I do know that."

"So his fever's down but he's in a world of hurt-even worse than before the treatment and there's new pain in his right leg. He tries to do his stoic SEAL shit-sorry, no harm intended-"

"None taken."

"But it's obvious he's hurting big time. Davenport orders more pain med and an ultrasound and damn if he doesn't have a blood clot in his leg. She says it's not unexpected with the way they ran his blood in and out of some filter. But she promises the pain will go away and yeah it finally does and we go for a few hours thinking things might be looking up."

"I'm guessing that didn't last?"

"Of course not. Five hours later his fever starts inching back up and he's hurting again. Swear to God, Joe, I could see it in his eyes-he knew it was going to get bad again. All I wanted to do was knock him out."

Joe's sickened look matches Danny's. "That sounds awful," he says. "Something must have happened since then, though, he was certainly doing better than what you're describing when I saw him. I mean he was having trouble getting his breath but his pain seemed tolerable."

"You're right. Something did happen. Davenport monkeyed around with his meds and decided he needed what she called serial treatments-one every twelve hours. So he's had four now. The last one was just a few hours ago. After each one he's a little better, his count is down; we're all ready to get hopeful…"

"But then?"

"But then it goes south again. Just like you saw start happening an hour ago. This time it was his breathing."

"They were able to stabilize him, though, after I left, right?"

"Sure they were. After pumping him with drugs and giving him breathing treatments and coming so close to sticking a damn tube down his throat I nearly put my fist through the wall."

"Jesus Danny, we've got to turn this thing around."

"You bet we do but how? There's no treatment for Dengue- go ahead Goggle it –I sure as hell have, at least a hundred times." The look on Danny's face inches toward desperate, "I mean it Joe, I… I don't know what to do."

"Well I just might know a place we can turn to."

"Where?"

"The Army has one hell of a biomedical research facility in D.C. If I'm not mistaken they have a whole section dedicated to tropical diseases."

"But Davenport already checked out every bit of research out there and didn't come up with anything from the Army."

"That's because military medical research can't be searched the same way civilian research can. I know some folks at Bethesda Naval who just might be able to connect me with the key players at this facility. Let me make a few calls."

"Fine. Go do it now. Please."

"I will but you have to promise me one thing."

"What?"

"That you believe in your heart and soul and gut that Steve is going to beat this thing."

"Sure, fine, I promise."

"That's not good enough, Danny. If there was one thing Steve believed every single time he set out on a mission it was that he was going to be successful. Belief like that is contagious and game changing. I need you to do what Steve did whenever he stepped up to the plate. I need you to believe we're going to beat this bastard."

Joe's voice is so deep and so certain, Danny shivers. Or maybe it's how scared he is that makes him shiver. Either way, he has no choice. "Okay. Count me in. We're doing this, damn it, we're beating this bastard."

"Good man. Now while I make my call you do whatever it was you came in here to do then get back to Steve and show him what you just told me.

Before Danny can even answer, Joe's turned his back and is punching a number in his phone..

* * *

When Davenport comes off the elevator, right before she enters the ICU, Joe is waiting for her. He asks her if she has a minute; he wants to share something that might help Steve.

"Mr. White, I really need to check on Steven. I'm afraid I can't talk now."

"I understand. Let me just give you this, then." Joe hands her a slip of paper. "This is contact information for an Army colonel by the name of Michael Reasonor, he's an MD and PhD and probably has a whole slew of other letters after his name but what's important is that he's stationed at the Walter Reed's Research Facility in DC and is the lead investigator on two studies involving Dengue-"

"Theses studies-do they involve actual treatments?"

"I'm not sure; I do know one of them involves a vaccine-"

Davenport squeezes Joe's arm to stop him. "I'm sorry Mr. White, I don't mean to disappoint you but I must tell you that the way a vaccine works to protect individuals against a virus and the way we need a medication to work in order to overpower a full-fledged infection is quite different. I wouldn't get my hopes up."

"I understand. I'd just appreciate it if you'd touch base with this fella. From what I hear he's damn good."

"I'm sure he is and you have my promise I'll speak with him as soon as I can. I really do need to see Steven now." She starts walking but Joe stays where he is. "Aren't you coming?"

"No, not just now." He shifts the weathered leather overnight bag on his shoulder a little higher up, "I need to grab a shower and change of clothes first-I've been on the road for two days."

"And where will you go to do that?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"A shower-where will you take a shower?"

"I hear there's a motel about a block away?"

"There is but I won't hear of it. Here, take this-" She digs a key ring from the pocket of her white coat and hands it to him. The bauble on it is a bright orange daisy. "My office is one floor down- the room number is 354. You'll find a bathroom with a shower and everything you need there."

"I couldn't-"

"Mr. White. Steven needs the people who care about him around him, not traipsing back and forth between here and some motel. I'm simply doing what's best for my patient."

"Well in that case I guess I can only say… thank you."

"You're very welcome-just try and hurry if you would."

* * *

Once Davenport gets to Steve she spends a particularly long time examining him. Apologizing for the pain it causes she has Sam roll him on his side so she can listen to his lungs from the back. Eyes closed, her forehead furrows as she moves her stethoscope from one side to the other. She clearly doesn't like what she hears the lower she gets. Finally she tells Sam to help Steve onto his back and to then raise the head of his bed. Slipping her stethoscope back in her pocket she waits.

Steve grunts as he rolls over.

"You need a hit, buddy?" Sam asks.

"No…not yet."

"Come on man-we've had this discussion already- you gotta stay ahead of the pain."

"He's right, Steven."

"I know but I just want... I just_ need_ to know what's going on. Is any... of this... working?"

Davenport purses her lips and takes a deep breath. "I'm afraid it looks as if we may need to accelerate you next treatment. You're lungs are starting to sound a little overloaded."

He frowns at her then looks down shaking his head."

"What is it Steven?"

"Why… bother?"

"Why bother with another treatment?"

He nods, not looking up.

"Well each treatment definitely reduces your symptoms-"

"But only for… a few hours."

"True, but-"

"I'm not sure... I want to keep doing this."

"I know it's grueling but it's all we have right now. Unchecked, the virus will make you much sicker much faster."

"Isn't that what going to happen… eventually."

"It may be but this is unchartered territory. We have no experience with the course of the disease in the setting of serial plasmapheresis treatments. We… we don't know but we're hopeful that each time we knock down your viral load-even if it's only for a few hours, we've bought you time for your own immune system to fight the virus."

"But I'm not getting any better… I feel… worse."

"I understand, but the improvement we're looking for isn't expected to be dramatic-"

"Do you see… any?"

"Improvement?"

He nods.

"Truthfully? No. I'm awfully sorry to say." After she admits it, Davenport squeezes his hand and says nothing There's nothing to say. She keeps her hand where it is- holding onto his, smoothing her thumb back and forth.

Steve says nothing. Doing as much talking as he just did has exhausted him. The room is quiet except for the whir of his IV pump and the beeps of the cardiac monitor. It's a few minutes before anyone speaks. It's Steve who breaks the silence and he does it in a voice barely above a whisper, "I don't want any more treatments."

"We don't have any other weapons you know?"

"I know." He opens his eyes. They're blood-shot and filled with pain. "I'm done."

"Oh my."

That's all Davenport says, 'Oh my.'

She squeezes his hand again after she says it and then her eyes go out of focus. After a minute she says very softly, "I'm awfully sorry Steven. I'm afraid I've been guilty of the very thing I chastise my resident's for."

"S'…kay."

"No. It's not. I should have asked you much sooner if what we're doing is what you want."

"It was… until now. I'm just... so tired. Don't get me wrong… I appreciate…. evry-thing you've done."

"I know you do. I'm awfully sorry _everything_ didn't included finding a way to beat this devil."

"You… tried."

"We certainly did. And you certainly fought an admirable battle."

Davenport's lip quivers the way it always does when the enemy she's been fighting is about to win. She squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath. Behind the thick lenses in her glasses her eyes glisten. "There are medications I can give you to make you more comfortable for a short while without sedating you too much. I'm guessing you'd like some time with Daniel and the others?

Steve nods but looks more anxious.

"What is it?"

"Can you give them… a heads up… about what I want to do? Danny's gonna go ball…istic."

Davenport huffs, "Yes he will, and of course, I'd be glad to talk to them.

* * *

"Daniel is here, Steven."

When he hears Davenport's voice, Steve forces his eyes open. It takes him a second to turn his head and find Danny. When he does he lifts his hand up off the bed. "Hey… Danno."

"Hey yourself," Danny takes hold of Steve's trembling hand. Blinking hard he gives it a firm squeeze. "I…uh, hear you been talking some crazy talk?"

"Not… crazy."

"Yeah well what I heard sounded crazy to me."

"I'm jus'… so tired."

"I hear you babe. And I'm damn sorry this is dragging on the way it is and that you're hurting the way you are but you can't give up. Not yet. There are too many people counting on you. You'd leave too big a fucking hole in this messed up world if you jumped ship now."

"Tha's jus it Danny-I wouldn't."

"Okay now you are definitely talking crazy."

"No. I'm not." Somehow Steve finds the strength to press back against his pillows and shift up enough so that he's eye level with Danny."You… you have Grace and your sisters and brothers and your folks. If anything happened to you... it_ would _leave a big empty hole in a lot of lives. Me? I'm just me."

"Well that's where you're wrong. I'm surprised at your Naval intelligence for letting you down so badly."

"If you're talking about Mary-trust me-Mary has nine lives… she'll be fine without me."

"I'm not talking about Mary. I'm talking about me, about us."

"Wha?"

"I'm going way out on a limb here but if this isn't the time to do it I don't when is."

It's hard to say which one of them looks more terrified.

"What are you saying Danny?"

"What am I saying? Fuck. I don't even know what I'm saying. All I know is I need you, Steve." Danny's voice catches in his throat, "Make that I can't bear the thought of losing you. There, I said it."

Steve looks confused and like he can only keep his eyes open for a few more seconds.

"Come on Steve. You got to hang on. You're my best friend but more than that and this is the part I don't understand one bit- I… I love you. I've never felt the way you make me feel. I, who always have way to much to say, am at a loss for words to explain it. I just know that you're the last person I think about before I fall asleep and the first person I think about when I wake up."

"I… am?"

"You are. Oh and there's more." Danny leans in to run his hand over Steve's damp forehead. He drops his voice to a whisper. "You're also the one I think about when I'm in the shower and when I'm driving and most of all, when I'm dreaming." He shakes his head sheepishly "And the dreams I have, courtesy of you, are the hottest damn dreams I've ever had-it's like I'm sixteen again, I wake up so hard."

After he delivers that last bit of information, Danny stops and looks at Steve to assess his reaction, since, after all, what he just said, is an indisputable, in your face, admission that yes, the partnership he wants to have with him is the intimate, wonderful, screw-like-damn-rabbits variety.

_Jesus, Mary, and Joseph._

Just admitting the fact to himself makes it tough to breathe.

And Steve's reaction?

There's no shock or terror or chagrin on his face.

_Good._

What is there is, is a pained frown.

_Bad. _

_Now I've done it._

"I'm sorry, Steve. I'm sorry I upset you, I shouldn't have said what I said."

Amazingly Steve grabs Danny's hand. "Stop. I'm not upset-"

"You're not?"

"No, not about what you said." Something is suddenly infusing Steve with energy he has no business having, "I want … what you want. I always have." He takes an effortful breath, "I'm just sorry that… it's too… late."

"What?"

_Talk about the highest high and lowest low_.

"It's not too late, Steve, it's not. You just got to hang on-"

Suddenly Steve's eyes close. Behind him a monitor's alarm behind suggests Danny might be wrong.

"No! Come on Steve! Don't do this to me. You and me… we got our whole lives in front of us!"

Suddenly people are racing into the room.

"Let us help him, buddy," Sam says gently but firmly to Danny, "Come on, you need to go."

"Why! What's wrong?"

"It's his breathing-his lungs are filling." As he's saying it, Sam connects a syringe to Steve's IV and presses down on the plunger. Danny stumbles out of his way, retreating to the corner of the room.

Suddenly Davenport is back. She listens to Steve's lungs then barks out orders that Danny doesn't understand. There's something about a breathing treatment and something else about a Solu-Medrol drip but all he can hear is the damn alarm screeching in his ear.

All he can see is Steve's chest working way too hard to pull air in.

All he wants to do scream.

It takes an eterinity but fianlly the panicked frenzy around Steve dies down. Davenport sees Danny and walks over to where he's standing. She takes both his hands in hers and looks up at him, "This isn't the end, Daniel. You'll have a chance to talk again; I promise. Right now you need to go and let us make sure he's stable. Okay"

"Are you sure because he looks-"

She interrupts, "I'm sure. He may not want anymore treatments but his body is still way too strong to go."

"Okay. So what do I do?"

"You should wait in the waiting room. I'll come get you as soon as we're sure Steven is stable."

Danny looks to Sam for confirmation.

"It's okay pal," Sam tells him. "We'll have you back in your favorite recliner in no time. This guy's s tough son of a bitch. Trust me, he's not going anywhere, anytime soon."

"Yeah. Okay. But please don't make me wait too long." Barely aware of where he's going, Danny makes it out into the hallway. The only reason he finds the waiting room is that Chin and Kono are just outside the door and take him there.

When they open the door they surprise Joe who's just putting down his bag. He instantly pales when he sees their faces, "Is... is he-"

"He's still with us, " Chin says. "But it's not looking good."

"Then I'm damn well going to get that Army doc involved-I don't care what Davenport says.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Danny asks.

"I'm talking about saving Steve's life."

* * *

_Late in the afternoon the next day…_

Eleanor Davenport looks damn good for someone who hasn't slept in over 24 hours. There's something about her pageboy haircut and ever-present lipstick that seems to make her impervious to signs of fatigue. If you asked her she'd tut -tut and claim there was one simple reason she looked as good as she did and one reason alone.

Then she'd look down at Steve and smile.

It was true. Steve's amazing turnaround was like no other elixir on earth.

For her even more than the others.

Danny who had been just if not more ecstatic when Steve's fever broke was snoring softly in the recliner next to him. Kono and Mary who had been so gleeful they shrieked and spun each other around like school kids, were now dead to the world and sacked out in the waiting room.

Only Chin was still as invigorated as Davenport. Sitting on a chair next to Steve's bed, he was content to watch his friend take slow deep breaths and finally sleep without grimacing or moaning. "You know," he said, looking up at Davenport as she scanned the monitors over the bed, "it's amazing how different his response was this time."

"It is. And what's even more amazing is that it took reverting to outmoded methods to get such a remarkable response."

"What do you mean?"

"Well when it was first introduced plasmapheresis involved removing a patient's plasma, not filtering then recirculating it. It was a far riskier procedure as you can imagine. Patients would be transfused with some other substance to replace their plasma-normal saline, or an albumin solution were used initially. Then, because those were so inferior to actual plasma, healthy donors who could tolerate having a liter or more of their plasma siphoned off were sought. The plasma was immediately frozen and then the appropriate type was thawed and transfused during plasmapheresis."

"Which is what you did for Steve?"

Davenport nods. "That's right. Colonel Reasonor was pretty sure we were missing a few incredibly small viral cells with our filtration technique and they were then maturing and wrecking havoc a few hours after being returned to Steve's circulation. By replacing his plasma with donor plasma we circumvented the problem. Thank goodness his blood type is what it is –we might not have had enough plasma had it been something else."

"So our guy here finally caught a break."

"He did. The real break, though, was thanks to your friend, Mr. White. I never got to thank him-where is he?"

"I'm afraid you missed him-as soon as he knew Steve was going to be okay he took off."

"Oh really. How odd. I thought he traveled a great distance to see Steven?"

"He did. Let's just say there are people on this island who would enjoy doing very unpleasant things to Joe if they ever got their hands on him."

"My goodness you people are involved in an unusual line of work."

Chin just smiled back at her-the less she knew about White the better.

Davenport takes the hint and switches the subject. "Tell me Chin, just what made all of you place that call to DC?"

"It was Joe's idea. You were busy with Steve and apparently hadn't had time to connect with Reasonor-"

"That's right. I planned to call but never had a chance-"

"So Joe took it upon himself. We did it as a conference call so that we could fill in any information he might not have."

"How did Reasonor come to recommend we revise our treatment protocol?"

"Joe told him about Steve and he asked what we doing to treat him. That's when Danny explained the whole plasmapheresis thing and how we were getting improvements but they were only temporary. That's when Reasonor just kind of tossed out the idea that maybe the technique we were using wasn't the best given Steve's circumstances."

"Is that when you sent Kono to come get me?"

"Yep, and the rest as they say is history."

Davenport smiled and then, for the first time, yawned. "Excuse me. Perhaps I need to grab a little rest like your colleagues."

"Go right ahead, I have a feeling Steve is going to be sacked out for a while."

"I do too." She gave Chin's shoulder a squeeze-"I'll be back in a bit."

"I'll be here. Make that we'll all be here."

* * *

"Danny…?"

Steve's voice is hoarse and not very loud but Danny's eyes instantly fly open. A second later he's up and leaning in over Steve, "What is it babe?"

"Wha' time is it?"

"What you got someplace you need to be?" Danny chuckles, checking his watch. "It just so happens to be a little after four in the afternoon. How ya feeling?"

It takes a few seconds; Steve stretches and shifts under the covers to come up with his answer. A weak smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, "I feel… good."

"Good?" Danny grins from ear to ear, "Well that's a relief. You really had us scared there pal."

Steve frowns; apparently that's not where he wants the conversation to go. "Know what, D?"

"What babe?" Suddenly his heart is pounding. _Does Steve remember?_

"I'm hungry."

Ok that cracks Danny up. He laughs so loud Sam sticks his head in the door, "Hey-what's so funny?"

"What's so funny is that your patient is hungry."

"Is that right, Steve?"

"Yeah. Starved in fact."

"Well we can't have that, I'll get you a tray right away."

"Think there could be some eggs on it? Scrambled, maybe?"

"Well not quite yet. You haven't eaten in days. Davenport wants to start you off on clears then if you do okay we can get you some eggs. Be right back." Before Steve can say anything, Sam takes off.

Steve looks stricken. His expression is so forlorn Danny fights not to giggle. "Come on Steve. It'll be okay."

"What the hell are clears?"

"Now that's a question I can definitley answer given my stints with Rachel in various hospitals – clears are clear liquids you know like broth and Jell-O."

Steve rears back, totally disgusted. "I hate Jell-O."

"Shh. Calm down. You heard Sam. As soon as you show him your stomach's good he'll let you eat regualr food. Hell I'll even go to the cafeteria and get you anything your heart desires."

Steve looks like he's about to protest but doesn't becasue Sam's already back. He rolls a tray table over the bed and sets Steve's meal down on it. After he uncovers the tray with a flourish he rattles off its contents, "Jell-O, juice, broth, Italian ice, hot water for tea- you got a veritable feast here."

Steve stares at the tray glumly. Next to him Danny bites his lip to keep from laughing.

"What flavor is the Italian Ice?" he finally asks.

"Let's see," Danny picks up the cup, "Yum-cherry."

"Okay, I'll try it."

After he pulls off the top, Danny hands him a spoon and the cup. "Here you go –have at it."

Steve takes a few spoonfuls and then puts his spoon down. Looking a little subdued, he lays his head back and licks his lips.

"What? You don't like it?"

"No it's good. I like it. I think I just need to take it slow."

Danny and Sam exchange a knowing look. "I'll check back in a little while and see how you do with the rest of it," Sam tells him.

They're both quiet until Sam's out of the room. "You really okay?" Danny asks worriedly.

"Yeah, I guess he was right. My stomach's a little off."

"No worries, we'll just take it slow. You want me to make you some hot tea?"

"No-" Steve says then reconsiders, "make that yeah-tea sounds good."

"You got it." As he's dunking a tea bag in the cup of hot water Danny keeps up a little running commentary, "Yes sir, you like tea. I remember that from way back."

"Just when did I tell you I like tea?"

"Don't you remember- we were on that stake out at Rachel's place and she asked if you wanted any. "Danny chuckles, "Funniest damn thing I ever saw-you standing there in the doorway, strapped to the hilt, with a porcelain tea cup in your hand. Swear to God you had your pinky up and were sipping away like one of the royals."

Steve huffs and gives Danny a smile. "I do remember that. I also remember something else about that day."

"What?"

"It was something I learned about you."

"About me? Oh I know. Was it that I had a cool wife-make that used to have one?"

"No Danny –it didn't have anything to do with Rachel."

"Then what?"

"Remember when the suspects took off and you went over to check out their place?"

"And nearly bought the damn farm?"

"Yeah."

"What about it?"

Steve looks over at Danny with an expression that's hard to read. His forehead is suddenly furrowed "Well before I knew you were safe I… I was a wreck. I mean flat out terrified."

"Oh really. Well, that's nice to hear. So you were worried you might lose your new partner before you even finished breaking him in?"

"No Danny I was worried I was going to lose you before I had a chance to convince you that you and I were going to …you know… be the kind of partners you were talking about earlier."

"You mean when I said what I said about-"

Steve finishes for him, "About us."

"So you do remember?"

"I sure do."

"If I remember correctly you said it really was what you wanted all along. Is that right?"

"It sure is. I knew I wanted you ever since you barged in on me at my Dad's place."

"That was_ my_ crime scene, I did not barge in."

"Come 'ere," Steve reaches up and tugs on Danny's shirt."Just shut up and kiss me."

And being a compliant, agreeable sort, Danny bends down and does exactly as he's told.

fin


End file.
